Warm Comfort for Cold Nights
by blvdgirl
Summary: Post Doomsday. Rose seeks comfort from Mickey at the end of a long day and is surprised by his reaction. Rose and Mickey friendship development. RoseDoctor Implied. Oneshot.


WARM COMFORT FOR COLD NIGHTS

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He knew it was coming. He had been watching her closely for months. Her eyes were just a bit too weary; her smile was just a bit too tight. And it almost always fell sadly short of reaching her eyes. Oh, she was trying to be brave, but he knew her. He knew that she was barely keeping her stiff upper lip in place, and he knew that soon the façade that she was working so hard to keep in place would shatter. He just prayed that when it did happen, that when she did break down, that he would be ready, that he would have the strength to give her what she really needed instead of what she thought she wanted... And he hoped, he just hoped, that somehow they'd both be able to pick up the pieces. He knew it would be no easy feat.

0o0o0o0

It had been a long day on the job. Rose and Mickey and their team had successfully thwarted yet another invasion attempt, but their efforts had been costly. Jake was in the hospital again along with two others, and they'd lost nearly a third of the Cardiff facility in the explosion. So when Rose invited Mickey home to her flat to watch a movie, he hadn't been surprised.

It had actually become a bit of ritual for them. A way to unwind at the end of a long day, yes, but also a way of postponing the nightmares that seemed to follow their positions within Torchwood more naturally than the posh salaries and the premiere parking. And not just nightmares of the monster-under-the-bed variety (though those did, of course, come with a job that included battling such monsters daily) but also the more frightening nightmares regarding the safety of their friends, their colleagues, and even their planet that came with knowing that the fate of all of those things too often rested on their young but increasingly weary shoulders.

So they sometimes watched movies to fend away the darkness. In their former lives, they might have gone to a pub to drink, watch a match, or chat with friends, but now what they usually wanted was some genuine down time with no bigger surprises than a two-hour DVD was likely to deliver.

As soon as they'd settled down on Rose's couch, Mickey sensed that something was wrong. Rose was sitting silent and still, curled up under a throw blanket against his right side. But Rose, his normal Rose, was never silent during a movie, she just had to get her words in, his Rose, and she was _never __ever_ still. Then, as if her realizing that he sensed something usual in the air emboldened her, suddenly her right hand found his chest under his shirt. Surprised and a bit taken-aback, he turned to her, her name a question on his lips, "Rose?"

But she didn't answer. Looking into her honey-brown eyes, Mickey saw a deep longing and desperation in them so fierce that it was akin to fear. It was like looking into the eyes of a caged wild bird on a glorious spring day when a crisp new wind was blowing—there was a fire in her eyes but it was a burning reminiscent more of death than life.

Before he could form words, before he could find reason, she kissed him. It was a hungry kiss, a kiss that offered him both everything and nothing, one that begged to be accepted at face value only. It was a kiss full of contradictions instead of promises.

It was passionate, but it wasn't intimate. He could have her, it said. She wanted him to take her, it prompted. But he couldn't touch her, it gainsaid; no, no, not the pent-up bird. She was falling, and she was afraid. Catch her, it tempted. She wants your flesh to catch her, it teased. But she won't let you hold her, it whispered knowingly. She doesn't really want to be held, it murmured darkly, at least not by you.

And as much as Mickey felt himself respond to the warmth of her mouth and the familiar feel of her so near his flesh, he pulled back. There were words that needed to be said; he had anticipated her actions and prepared himself for just such a moment. In her weakness, he would be strong.

Maneuvering Rose's shoulders gently so that there was space between them, he saw her expression change from desperation to some foreign, unexpected emotion nearing rage at his rejection, but even the rage couldn't quite mask her sadness. The sadness washed over and through her in waves, and Mickey knew that, but for the resolution made long before, he'd have sold both of their souls to offer what little comfort his flesh could provide to Rose Tyler in that moment.

But he knew what he had to say, and he presented it to her as gently as he could: "Your mom and Pete."

Rose's eyes swam in tears and confusion. "My mum and Pete?"

Still keeping his hands on her shoulders, he nodded slowly and continued. "Growing up on the estate, I watched your mom go from boyfriend to boyfriend, from one guy to the next to the next to the next."

Rose grew defensive, "Yeah. What about it?"

"Some of them were no good," Mickey replied softly, his tone steady, "And she was well rid of them, but some of them were decent blokes. Some of them would have done well by her and you."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Rose asked, her voice and face tense.

"I'm getting to it." Mickey responded, pausing to consider his words carefully before continuing. "I often wondered why she didn't settle down and remarry, and I wasn't the only one. It's not like she didn't have a chance. You may not have known it, but there were offers." He paused again to gage her reaction. She still looked hurt and confused, but she was listening to him. And he could feel her shoulders relaxing under his fingers. "When Pete, the Pete from this world, asked her in Canary Wharf, she said that there'd never been anybody else..."

Rose sighed loudly as she interrupted, her voice rife with impatience. "What she meant was…"

"I know what she meant Rose." He responded, his voice getting louder to match hers. "I know what she meant 'cause that's what this," he moved his arms to indicate the two of them, "Is all about… She meant that that string of guys were nothing, that they were nobodies that meant nothing to her, which is why she never stuck with 'em long. Each was just another body in the bed at the end of a long day, something comfortable and nice, but they weren't real to her. They weren't real cause they weren't him. When she told Pete there was never anybody else, it was the truth. Those blokes were just bookmarks between the pages of their story, the story of Jackie and Pete."

"I don't understand what this has got to do with anything." Rose replied as she pulled out of his grasp and repositioned herself on the far end of the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest like armor.

"Yeah, you say that, and you look at me with those eyes like I'm hurting you on purpose. But I'm not Rose. I'm just trying to stop you from hurting yourself and from hurting me. I'm stopping you from hurting me 'cause I love you; I always have. But if this happens now between you and me, if I let you do this, we both get burned. 'Cause we'll both know that I'm not him. I'm not him, and that means that I'm not good enough." Rose moved as though to respond to this, but Mickey shushed her.

"I can't pretend to be Howard or Jim or Walt and just ignore the fact that the woman I love is waiting for something impossible. I can't just be the bookmark, the nobody you turn to when you want warmth on cold nights, Rose. That's worse than being the tin dog; that's the worst thing I can imagine! Do you understand, Rose?" His eyes were frenzied, his heart open for her to see. "Do you understand what you're asking from me?"

Tears were cascading down Rose's cheeks, and Mickey wanted more than anything to brush them away. But he had to know that she understood. "I do want you Rose. Please don't think I don't want you. But, I'd need you to want me back, and I know that you don't, that you can't… So, I'm sorry Rose. I'm so sorry."

Rose leant into him again, shaking her head vehemently. "No Mickey, I'm sorry. You're right. About all of it, you're right. And, I'm sorry Mickey. I'm so, so sorry. I do love you Mickey. You know that, right. I do love you so much, I just… Oh God, I miss him!"

"Shhh." He cooed, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her and comforting her the best way he knew how. "We're both gonna get through this Rose. Somehow we're gonna get through this together."

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And the two friends fell asleep on the sofa together, holding tight to one another, their love keeping the nightmares at bay. Warm comfort to each other on a very dark night.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed that. Please do review if you have the time… For those of you waiting for updates on my other fics, please know that the plots are well-in-hand (outlines galore). I've just been blocked with the actual writing of words bit. Updates to be posted soon.


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